Chapter 6
I called back immediately.
The number was disconnected.
Not unanswered.
Disconnected.
I called Officer Daniels.
Then Rachel.
Within twenty minutes, both knew what had happened.
The police traced the call as far as they could.
Prepaid phone.
Purchased with cash.
No useful subscriber information.
My father could have been anywhere.
“What did he mean by ‘he found me’?” Daniels asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Could Michael be manipulating you?”
The question hurt.
But it was fair.
“I haven’t heard his voice since I was a child.”
“You recognized it?”
“I think so.”
“That’s not certainty.”
Rachel agreed.
“We verify everything.”
I hated that they were right.
By noon, police had issued inquiries connected to Michael Mercer’s name.
No recent Texas driver’s license.
No property.
No utilities.
Almost like he had spent years trying not to exist.
Meanwhile, I kept thinking about what he said.
My grandfather hid something in the house.
Richard had searched for it.
Maybe Daniel had too.
Suddenly the maintenance access code made even more sense.
They had controlled the property for years.
Why sell it to me?
That question bothered Rachel too.
“Maybe they didn’t know who you were at first.”
“But Karen did.”
“Eventually.”
“Then why let me buy?”
Rachel considered it.
“Maybe because your name changed.”
She was right.
My legal last name was Carter.
I had taken my mother’s maiden name after college.
When I purchased the property, nobody searching for Emily Mercer would automatically connect me to it.
“But once Karen saw me…”
“She may have recognized you.”
“From when I was four?”
“Not likely.”
I thought of the photograph.
Mom and I looked remarkably alike.
Same eyes.
Same jaw.
Same dark hair.
Maybe Karen recognized my mother in my face.
That afternoon, I started searching the house.
Not recklessly.
Rachel insisted I photograph everything first.
I began with the attic.
Boxes.
Insulation.
Old beams.
Nothing.
Then closets.
Loose floorboards.
Cabinets.
The garage.
Behind built-in shelves.
Nothing.
At six, Frank arrived.
“You need help?”
“How did you know?”
“Half the neighborhood knows.”
I gave him a tired look.
“Wonderful.”
He smiled.
“For once, gossip might be useful.”
He brought a stud finder and an inspection camera.
Melissa arrived too.
Then two other homeowners.
What started as a search became a strange neighborhood excavation.
At one point, I stood in my kitchen watching five people who had all been targeted by the HOA knock gently on walls.
It almost made me emotional.
These were people driven into silence.
Now they were helping me fight back.
Frank found something first.
“Emily.”
I went to the hallway.
He pointed at the wall beneath the stairs.
“This section’s weird.”
“How?”
“Stud spacing changes.”
I looked.
It appeared normal.
He used the scanner.
“There should be a cavity here.”
Melissa tapped the wall.
Hollow.
My heart started racing.
We removed a small piece of baseboard.
Behind it was a seam.
An old access panel had been painted over.
Frank carefully pried it open.
Darkness.
Dust.
Then metal.
A narrow steel box sat inside the wall.
Nobody spoke.
I reached in.
The box was locked.
“Don’t force it,” Rachel said over video call.
She wanted police present.
Officer Daniels arrived twenty-five minutes later.
He photographed everything.
Then allowed us to remove the box.
There was no key.
A locksmith opened it.
Inside were three cassette tapes.
A ledger.
And a sealed envelope addressed to:
EVELYN.
My mother.
I started crying before I opened it.
The letter was from my grandfather, Thomas Mercer.
Evelyn,
If Richard or Michael tells you these records are worthless, they are lying.
The ledger contains payments made through Lakeview Development between 1991 and 1998.
Some were bribes.
Some were fraudulent foreclosure proceeds.
Copies of documents were given to an attorney in Dallas.
If anything happens to me before I can testify, do not give the originals to Richard Coleman.
Trust no one from Lakeview.
Protect Emily.
I stopped.
My name again.
Why was my grandfather telling Mom to protect me?
I kept reading.
Richard believes I recorded our meetings.
He is correct.
The tapes are labeled by date.
There should be enough to prove what they did.
My hands trembled.
Officer Daniels immediately stopped the search.
“This may be evidence connected to crimes outside my jurisdiction.”
He contacted a detective.
Rachel contacted someone at the district attorney’s office.
Nobody played the tapes.
Not yet.
The ledger alone contained dozens of names.
Payments.
Property addresses.
City officials.
Contractors.
Law firms.
I recognized Richard.
Michael Mercer.
And one more name.
Karen Peterson.
She had received payments in 1996.
“What did Karen do back then?” I asked Frank.
He shrugged.
“She would’ve been what? Thirty?”
I searched public records.
Karen Peterson had worked for a title company.
A title company involved in several Lakeview transactions.
My neighbor hadn’t merely joined Richard recently.
They had known each other for decades.
The police collected the box.
But not before every item was photographed and inventoried in front of me and Rachel.
That night, I felt something unexpected.
Relief.
For the first time, the truth existed somewhere outside my hands.
Richard couldn’t simply break into my house and make it disappear.
Too many people knew.
Too many copies.
Too many witnesses.
Then at 11:08 p.m., my power went out.
Every light.
Every outlet.
The street remained bright.
Only my house was dark.
My security system switched to backup battery.
I grabbed my phone.
The side-yard camera showed movement near the electrical panel.
A figure in a hood.
I called 911.
Then another camera alerted.
Back door.
A second person.
My chest tightened.
This wasn’t vandalism.
They were surrounding the house.
I locked myself in the upstairs bedroom.
Rachel had told me again and again:
Do not confront anyone.
I didn’t.
I stayed behind the locked door and watched the cameras.
The person at the back door tried the handle.
Then entered a code.
Old maintenance code.
Rejected.
Again.
Rejected.
He kicked the door.
Once.
Twice.
Wood cracked.
I whispered my address to the dispatcher even though she already had it.
“They’re coming inside.”
“Officers are approaching.”
A third kick.
The frame split.
Then suddenly the man stopped.
Red and blue lights reflected across the backyard.
He ran.
The person beside the electrical panel ran too.
Police caught one at the end of the street.
The other escaped.
Officer Daniels called me downstairs only after the house was cleared.
The arrested man was sitting on the curb in handcuffs.
I didn’t recognize him.
Then Daniels found his wallet.
The name was Samuel Price.
“Price?” I said.
Daniels nodded.
“Daniel Price has a brother?”
Apparently he did.
Samuel initially claimed he was there because I owed money to his brother.
Then police searched his truck.
Inside was a crowbar.
Gloves.
Bolt cutters.
And printed photographs of my house.
One photograph showed me entering Rachel’s office.
Another showed Frank standing in my driveway.
Another showed my aunt Susan outside the San Antonio storage facility.
I stared at it.
“They followed us.”
Daniels’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
Then an officer pulled something else from the glove compartment.
A folded sheet.
At the top:
RECOVERY PRIORITIES.
1. Mercer ledger.
2. Recorded tapes.
3. Evelyn correspondence.
4. Any copies.
At the bottom was one handwritten instruction.
IF BOX REMOVED, LOCATE WHO HAS IT.
I looked at Daniels.
“The police have it.”
He nodded.
“That may be the best thing that’s happened so far.”
Samuel was taken away.
By morning, he had a lawyer.
By afternoon, that lawyer contacted prosecutors.
Samuel wanted to talk.
His condition?
Protection.
Apparently, Daniel had disappeared because Richard had ordered him to.
And Samuel had been hired to recover the hidden records.
But his statement contained one detail nobody expected.
He said Richard wasn’t the person running everything.
Rachel called me immediately.
“What does that mean?”
“According to Samuel, Richard answers to someone else.”
“Who?”
“He claims he never met the person.”
“Then how does he know?”
“Daniel told him.”
I felt frustrated.
“This could be nonsense.”
“It could.”
“Did Daniel give a name?”
“No.”
“Anything?”
Rachel hesitated.
“A title.”
“What title?”
“The Founder.”
That evening, Denise came to my house with another piece of information.
She looked terrified.
“I heard what happened last night.”
“How?”
“Karen called me.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she want?”
“To know whether I gave you the old notebook.”
I glanced toward the cameras.
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know what she meant.”
Denise lowered her voice.
“Then she asked whether you found the box.”
My blood went cold.
“How would she know?”
“I don’t know.”
Only six people had been inside when we found it.
Me.
Frank.
Melissa.
Two neighbors.
And Officer Daniels.
Plus Rachel on video.
One of them had talked.
Or someone was watching.
Denise pulled out her phone.
“She sent me something after I refused to answer.”
A photograph.
Recent.
Taken from across a parking lot.
My father.
Older.
Gray hair.
Thin.
But unmistakably the man from my childhood photographs.
He was alive.
The timestamp was from that morning.
May you like
Beneath it, Karen had written:
Tell Emily her father has one chance left.
